Thanks, three. I'd hoped it might be a kind of prose-poem, composed (perhaps it's clear) of Tweets, 140 characters, no: what I think of as enjambment, no true "line breaks," yet poem-like in its appearance, sentences, definitely. Now I have another note to write nearer the top. Thanks.

Oh, I hope it's sweet; I stopped squirting pee to think of "breasts, which were large, adult-size" as I tried to phrase an episode of the past, a woman I met for lessons whose white, semi-opaque under-shirted breasts were untethered, adult-size. Her fingernails were grimy, and she ate a bag of food from MacDonald's in the library study room. She demanded free services and rides to St. Paul, 20 miles out of the way. When she screamed, it was high-pitched, hypersonic, and only a sea animal could really see her.